


The Voyuer, The Vixen, and the Vandal

by The483



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 02:25:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4122525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The483/pseuds/The483
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A three person Mercenary team is hired by a Human Spectre to provide a guard for a mysterious human diplomat deep within the bowels of Omega. Intrigue ensues, and things might not be as they seem, as the Collectors appear, ghosts come back from the dead, and the Reapers descend upon the Galaxy. Based around at least three Original Characters, from shortly after Mass Effect 1 on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Players

Mass Effect: The Voyeur, the Vixen, and the Vandal

By: The 483

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Mass Effect.

Spoiler Alert: Some spoilers, Light to moderate, are contained herein.

Chapter 1: The Players

Catherine Elizabeth Chambers stood lazily, leaning against a stack of easy to move crates. She yawned, her white teeth gleaming in the sharp light of the modular lighting coupled to the roof of the space. She pulled out her package of cigarettes, and knocked one out, placing it in the corner of her mouth. She breathed deep, the tip flaring to life before fading to a dull red point. She breathed out her nose, letting the smoke trickle slowly out. She sighed happily, then opened her eyes, their bright, deep emerald iris's almost glowing in the harsh light.

"Oh," she said, as if she had forgotten that there were other people present, "anyone else want one?" She held up the self start cigarettes to the assemblage.

6 people sat on their knees, their wrist bound behind them with some wire. Each bore the bruises and scuff marks of combat, their armor dented and scratched, and in one case, leaking blood. There were three humans, a Salarian, a Turian, and a Batarian. At the suggestion, two of the humans looked angry, one looked scared, the Turian made no notice, the Salarian cocked hiss head to the side, and the Batarian grunted.

"Sure." He said, his lower set of eyes blinking. Casey pushed off with her back, and took a few steps forward, flicking the pack so that another cigarette poked out, and held it so the Batarian could grab it. He did, and breathed it to life. "Thanks." He said around it, with a sigh of pleasure. "Hurph, not bad, for a human brand." Casey grinned.

"Nope." She held up the pack for him to see. They were a Krogan brand. The Batarian looked impressed. Casey nodded, and returned to her position.

"Are you done?" A slightly irritated voice called from down the line. Casey looked over and met the blue eyes of the Asari standing there. She was dressed in skin tight leathers, reinforced in the shins, thighs and arms with plates of specially treated fiber composite armor. The front of the armor was cut out, exposing the lower part of her breasts, and her stomach to about 6 inches below her navel. She was tapping her foot impatiently.

"Always time for politeness, Vix." She said smugly. The Asari was Tsukiko A'yorro. Raised on Palavin, the Daughter of an Asari diplomat and a Turian Soldier, she spent the majority of her early life raised in Turian culture, so that even though she had mellowed in the past 50 years or so, her ridged discipline was still apparent, even though she engaged in more erratic, or what Casey referred to as "Teenager" behavior. The fact the Tsukiko was 187 years old didn't matter, as she was still in the Maiden stage of her life cycle. She rolled her eyes at Casey, looking amazingly childish.

"ANYWAY," She emphasized the word, "as I was saying, which of you is going to tell me where the package went?" She glared at the 6 prisoners.

"I'd tell her." A gruff, deep voice said from behind the men. "Bitch is crazy." It was the third of Casey's party. The only name he had ever given to her, or Tsukiko, was Thud. The Krogan was easily 3 feet taller than Casey's 6 feet, and all of it was rippling muscle. He went by the call sign of Vandal, which was throwback to his peculiar roots. He was a Krogan, which meant that he was fairly warlike in temperament. But he had seen the futility of the Krogan's plight early on, and distanced himself from them. He had a talent for engineering, and studied and worked on the citadel for 20 years before he was comfortable with his proficiency. After that, he met Casey, and they began working together. His call sign was chosen because he has not the main muscle on the team, he was the tactician and planner of their ops. Vixen (Tsukiko) was the front woman, and contracted with employers, her natural sex appeal made her good at working people. Their average commission had gone up 20% since she joined the team.

Casey or Voyeur, as she was called, was in her late 20's, though even she wasn't sure anymore the exact age. She was between 26 and 29, but having been raised in a crèche, the official records were shaky at best. At 15, using a fake I.D. chip that said she was 19, Casey joined the alliance. By 17, and on the cusp of a promotion to Sergeant, she was transferred to Earth and enlisted in Sniper Training. She graduated top of her class, left a Corporal, and was attached to a garrison on a mining rich colony on an otherwise uninteresting planet in the Attican Traverse. As the mining interests were owned by Citadel based manufacturing companies, the garrison was shared by military forces of the Turian, Salarian, and Human governments, under over all command of a Turian Major who was nursing a grudge against humans, still fresh after the First Contact War.

After two years of this posting, with very little action, the military board review and liquidated her position, and in view of the negative reports filed by the commanding officer, Casey was released from service. She was pissed, of course, as he allegations of her Xenophobic slurs were exaggerated where they were not outright fabricated. Casey, in point of fact, loved meeting aliens. Half the reason she had joined the alliance in the first place was so that she could meet and learn about the other cultures in the galaxy.

So, the 20 year old ex soldier was dumped in the slums of the Citadel with few belongings, and only enough back pay to put her up for 6 months at most. That problem was solved after a mere 2 weeks. One day, while she was eating in a cheap restraint in an unassuming ward, wondering if the meat in her meal was in fact what it was claimed to be, a man in a sharp looking suit sat down across from her. After a short conversation, Casey learned that she had been scouted for a paramilitary group called "Cerberus." The man explained that they combed through the dossiers of alliance soldiers who had been dismissed under unfavorable circumstances, and offered to let them continue fighting on humanities behalf.

Casey loved it. It was so different from the Alliance. All of the equipment was new and shiny, state of the art, and the people around her were as good at what they did as she was at what she did. 4 years she spent with them, the first three a rapid string of promotions and missions. But she began to have doubts. Not once in that time, did she enjoy friendly relations with an alien. And darker rumors began to float around, of assassinations, and political pressures they were exerting that were not merely pro Human, but anti-Alien. So Casey minded her business, but kept an ear to the ground. She was one of the first candidates for a program called "Project Phantom." Her and about two dozen others were placed in a special outpost, and were installed in a special, extreme training regimen. Casey had been worried at first; during her time with the Alliance, she had taken an incendiary round to the left shoulder, and the whole area was a mass of scars. But she retained her range of motion, and was able to keep on track, learning to use the new kit, and easily keeping up with the physical training. Casey did not know it at the time, but she had been the most promising student, and even had a few of the trainers scared, if she were to go rouge, a lot of people would die before Casey would be stopped.

So Casey kept up the special training, until the phase of augmentation came to pass. The plans called for the weaving of advanced cybernetics and synthetics into the body structure, to allow for enhanced senses, and interfacing with the mechano-assisted hard suits. Casey refused, and a scuffle ensued. 3 trainers and 5 security force members died before they lost track of her.

Now, 3 years later, Casey found herself as the Sharpshooter and Muscle of a three person mercenary family living and operating in Omega. She wore a old Alliance Spec. Ops sot suit, overlaid with woven hard fabric coated ceramic plating, painted into a shiny black that glittered dark purple when the light hit it at the correct angle. The Nano forged titanium alloy sword that she had requisitioned when she left Cerberus was clipped to magnetic hard points on her belt at her back, so that the blade hung suspended horizontally, and her right hand rested on the hilt as she puffed her cigarette. Hanging within easy reach of that, was a red, Blood Pack manufactured Executioner pistol. While it could only fire one round per thermal clip expended, that round had the power to liquefy most unarmored targets, and would rip most lighter armor apart. A heavily modified Mantis sniper rifle was compacted on her back. Casey could work as redily with rapid or semi automatic weapons, but she prefered the accuracy and damage that the single shot weapons delivered, and did not worry about the close range. If Vandal did not manage them, they would not live long enough to regret their mistakes.

One of the humans spit at Vixen's feet.

"Oh? I am sorry, do you think this is a game?" She said darkly. Vandal shook his head sadly. "Voyeur, would you show our friends here why proper respect would be a good idea?" Casey's hand flowed from the hilt of her sword, caught the pistol, raised it, and fired as the barrel reached the right angle, letting the massive buck push her arm straight up, before continuing the motion back around, reattaching the gun to her belt, and resting at ease again. The retort of the pistol was so loud as to make the lights shake. The body of the offender no longer possessed a head, and person to either side of him were sprayed with fine red mist, and peppered with bits of bone and brain. The body slumped. The man who had looked scared whimpered as pissed himself. The other had flinched, except the Turian, who hadn't even seemed to notice.

"Anyone else care to be rude?" Vixen asked sweetly. "No? Good, now tell me..." She grabbed the front of the Salarian's armor, and hoisted his face close, "where is the package that was supposed to be in this container?" The Salarian remained mute, looking defiant, so Vixen backhanded him across the face. While only playing a sociopath, intent on scaring the Eclipse mercs into talking by pretending, thereby killing as few as possible, some part of Tsukiko liked interrogations. This was manifested by the inclusion of a small patch of metal she had incorporated into the back of her right glove, which was similar to a cheese grater in effect. This turned what was usually an unsuccessful minor pain delivery into a psychological weapon, as it could be really disconcerting to get a simple slap, yet see the had come away with half of your face on it. Tsukiko then learned an interesting fact. Salarian faces bled a lot. The aliens face paled, and he lost consciousness and blood flowed thickly and soaked the front of his armor. She made a disgusted sound (shaking inside, but she had an act to play, and did not let it show) and dropped the creature into his own pooling blood. She figured that this one was done for, he was bleeding too much, and wanted him put out of his misery.

"Vandal, if you would please finish this?" She moved on, and the Krogan, his heavy metal plates creaking as he shuffled over, and looked down on the Salarian. He may have given up on the Krogan as a people, even going so far as to abandon his Clan ties, but he still was not overly fond of Salarian for their work in sterilizing his people. He lifted a heavy, metal shod boot, and smashed the squishy skull like an over ripe fruit. He let out a satisfied chuckle as he wiped the boot on the dead mercs back armor, and moved over to where Casey stood, looking peaceful in the face, but sick in the eyes. She knew it was necessary to give a show of forrce, but she was far more used to being far away from the carnage, watching through a lens. Killing unarmed prisoners did not sit well. She offered the big Krogan a Cigarette, and he took it. It looked ridiculously small in his mouth. He breathed in, half the stick burning and crumbling away. He gave a disgusted grunt.

"Honestly, we have no desire to kill you." Tsukiko continued as if nothing had happened. The Batarian grunted.

"Doesn't seem that way from where I am sitting."

"Oh, we are willing, but that does not mean we are eager. We have a simple mission." She turned, hands on her hips, and looked at the four remaining figures. "As I am sure you are aware, there is only one law within Omega. That law is simple: Do not fuck with Aria. But for some reason, your bosses seemed to believe themselves exempt from this law, and chose to attack one of her warehouses, and steal a piece of something. And so here we are, to retrieve this package. Now, believe it or not, you are lucky, as we are not standard operatives for Aria, and as such, do not NEED to kill you. If you turn the package over tto us now, we shall allow you to go, with no further repercusions."

"And if we don't?" The Batarian asked, his voice level, almost amused. Tsukiko sighed.

"Then some torture until one of you spills the beans, and Aria sends her real forces to eliminate any members of your family or other contacts in residence in Omega to send a message about the cost of defiance." The Batarian nodded thoughtfully, then looked sideways at the Turian.

"See, Kerus, I told you something was off when these three burst in. Did the boss tell you that the thing they nicked was stolen from Aria? Anyone on station for more than a rotation knows that she wouldn't take that sitting down, so this was clearly an expectable outcome."

"We do not know that they will let us go." The Turian spoke, his expression not changing."

"True." Casey added. "But there is the chance, and isn't that better then a clear certainty?"

"Right." The Batarian added. "Isn't your family worth at least the chance that you'll come home? I know mine is." The Turian looked conflicted.

"That makes sense." Vandal, always the tactician, had been thinking throughout, and chimed in.

"Better idea. You four come with us, and personally deliver the package back to Aria personally, as a show of good faith." At that, the Turian looked skeptical, but slightly relieved.

"...Alright, I guess we can..." The angry looking human interrupted with a shout.

"NO! you dirty -" The human was in turn interrupted as Vixen's Predator barked three times and he toppled backwards. She turned to Casey as she let her gun fall to her side.

"Jeez. Voyeur, is this a human trait, or something, to get a good deal, and just say screw it?" Casey shrugged.

"Possibly. A lot of us do seem to like to tell people in positions above us to screw off when we are not in a position to bargain."

"Hmmm, well, anyone else want to argue, or are we good?"

They were good. Vixen moved around back, unbinding the Turian's hands while Casey covered him with her pistol while he retrieved the package. It was unimpressive, a small thing wrapped in static resistant plastic. Vandal accepted it. They then made arrangements to meet outside of Afterlife about two local hours later, where Casey and Tsukiko came, freshly showered and in appropriately skimpy dress that never the less did not stand out in a club such as the Queen of Omega's lair. Tsukiko, still using the name Vixen, spoke briefly to a bouncer, flashed a view of the package, and gestured to the Batarian and Turian, looking slightly out of place with their bruises and cuts. The other human was nowhere to be found, but he had chosen to flee rather than attept to parley with Aria, or more likely, one of her officers. They were waved forward, and Tsukiko handed the package to the Turian. As they passed into the club, and the bass heavy music deaded all other sound and made the air shake, Tsukiko nodded to Casey, and left her to mind the shop, walking off to meet with a person who might have a job for them. Casey watched her go with a small portion of her awareness, until she saw the table where she stopped, and her attention was piqued.

She recognised the person sitting there., and knew that she should not be sitting there, or even on Omega at all.

She continued to watch as they were cleared up and into Aria's private booth, were scanned, and the two Elclispe plead their case, presenting her with the package. Casey, like her call tag implyed, stood with her back to the room, looking down at her parter, talking quietly with the human woman accross from her.

She had short, ruffled chin length hair that was a dark blood red, and deep set, almost dead eyes the exact same shade as her hair. Pale skin almost fish belly white, and a small, almost silky slender frame looked awkward in cloths that were baggy on her, but would have been skin tight on anyone else. There were probably no humans in council space that had not seen this woman, at least in pictures, in the last few months.

It was a publicity stunt, possibly put across by the human Council member to help bolster flagging moral after the death of Commander Shepard, the First Human Spectre, Commanding office of the Turian/Human manufactured ship Normandy, and Hero of the Skillian Blitz and Battle of the Citadel. The official story was that his ship had been attacked by Pirates and he had been killed in the attack about 6 months back, and it was a great loss.

This woman... Cypress, Casey thought the name was, was elevated from nowhere to be hailed as the Second Human Spectre, and if the stories were to be believed, the most powerful Biotic in the alliance. Rumors floating around the net said that she could do tricks even the Asari hadn't heard of. One of her popular stunts was that she could wrap herself in a biotic field, and force herself through a Quantum "gap" and back out through another, effectively teleporting herself a short distance. There was a video they had shown on the news of her repelling a Vorcha attack out on a rim world, where she popped out of existence, only to reappear somewhere else, punching a Vorcha, before vanishing again, to appear behind another, slamming a hammerfist on its skull. This repeated until she had killed or disabled about 10 of them, before popping in the center of another group, and detonating in an explosion that tossed the bodies 20 meters in the air, and finished by throwing another biotic field at an approaching ground support vehicle, crushing in the front like a tin can and sending pieces sheering off it.

But it made Casey uneasy, and not because she was a Spectre. Casey did not fret about them, she was confident that she could match one in solo combat. If it hadn't been for her record, she might have even eventually been put up for recommendation. But no, the fact that she was here, on Omega, and seeking out Tsukiko, an act that usually meant a job, did not make sense, and that irritated Casey.

Oh well, she would find out soon enough. She stifled a yawn, as she was dismissed, and headed back down onto the floor, and up to the bar, ordering a shot, and receiving with it a chit that contained their payment. She pounded back the alcohol, and found Tsukiko walking up. She held out a hand, and the Asari took it, and they left.

"Got a new job, guarding a Veep." She said when they were clear of the din of the club. "Starts in 4 days." She gestured with the envelope she held in her free hand. She would give it to Thud, and he would work out the plan. "How'd your end go?"

"No issues. Was a little surprised the Aria let the 2 live, but they spilled some secrets on their employers, so I would not be surprised to see a few Eclipse heads on stakes the next time we cruise the wards." Casey was not exaggerating or speaking metaphorically. But she did not worry, another job was done, and she was tired. And Tsukiko was good for the nerves. It was no real lovey dovey time relationship, Tsukiko would never hold still for that kind of thing. She was what Thud liked to refer to as a "Pansexual," meaning she would have sex with anything, and he was not far off the mark. There had even been a thought to making her call sign "Harkness," But Casey didn't think anyone would get the joke. And why Casey did love Tsukiko in her own way, it was not in that way. She was a nice partner to snuggle with, and a casual romp or angry, blowing off steam endurance match was always nice, but they were not compatable for a relationship. As they hit the causeway, and flagged a auto cap, Casey decided she would just fill Thud in on her impressions, and let him factor it out. She would just remain on edge, and like her namesake, watch everyone's back.

End 1


	2. The Best Laid Plans...

Mass Effect: The Voyeur, the Vixen, and the Vandal

By: The 483

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Mass Effect.

Spoiler Alert: Some spoilers, Light to moderate, are contained herein.

Chapter 2: The best laid plans...

Flux sat in a chair in a private, one room building that had been rented for the purpose of her visit, the light gauge metal chair uncomfortable, groaning under even the modest weight of her light armor. The only other things in the room were a light card table, a window to her left overlooking more industrial works, Her bodyguard, incased on full Havoc armor, and the two humans, one across the table, and the other pacing behind her. She ignored the Human's escort, just as the human ignored her own.

Flux was in, as far as she knew, a unique position. She had no family name. Her mother died in childbirth, and she was unable to claim a position within her true family, as being the illegitimate daughter of the Primarch was not an ideal position, especially when that fact was one of the most closely held secrets on Palavin. But she had been allowed to stay attached to the house until, at the age of 6, her Biotics manifested themselves, and she was sent off to the Cabal for training.

But, she had been treated well, and after graduation from the basic program, had served for 7 years in conflicts across the galaxy until recalled home. There, she was attached to the Primarch's personal staff, where she was now considered to be offically part of the family she could never truly belong to in any other way. She thought it was just his way of making amends to her for the impossibility her birth had saddled her with, but she was a valuable asset to him, as well.

That was why she was not irked about the crap detail she was pulling now, playing politico for both her father, AND the Turian Councilar. She did not need the special credencials locked within her armor's most secure compartments, authorizing her to act on behalf of the Primarch, Councilor, and the Turian people, to know that whatever this was, it was gravely important. She was smart, and could infer that the human across from her was similarly endowed, though she could not guess to why. Her official instructions were to "hear the humans out, ask questions as you see fit, make NO promises, and report back all you learn. This human is to be treated as an equal, and is not to be treated as hostile in any but life threatening circumstances." So when she surveyed the human, she was careful to soak in every detail.

(...)

Captian Cynthia "Dutchess" Campbell smiled softly to herself as the armored female Cabalim Turian examined her. Her shoulder length orange hair, muted make up, formal friendly smile, and unassuming, insignia-less black uniform were all meant to make her look plain. And as a pretty young woman in her early thirties, she was mostly sucessful. But there was no disguising her pale grey eyes, which looked like the eyes of a 90 year old.

The Dutchess had been a member of the AIS, or Alliance Intelligence Service since the eve of her 19th birthday, and over the course of 6 years, had risen to the rank of Captain, and was the head of her own section. 2 yeears later, there were 3 people above her in the orginization, and she was promoted to the final rank anyone ever receives in the service. But a captain in the AIS was not in the standard chain of command, which would have sat her rank as equivalent with a brigadier general, or Commander of a Navy Task Group. But her relentless pursuit of facts, cold, almost ruthless use of resources, and high standards for her underlings, had made her one of the most feared and respected spooks in the AIS, and the Alliance. Even on a ship, the Captain (her being bumped up to Major while underway, as no ship could have two Captains,) often was weary of her prescience.

But She loved her job, and worked tirelessly to support Humanity. And for the past two years, that meant that she supported Admiral Stephen Hackett. She had first been assigned to him when he petitioned for an investigation into a clandestine group known only as "Cerberus." He had been performing his own investigations, and had met with only blank walls, and non-cooperation. So she was assigned, mostly as a concession to show that while they did not believe him, they took the threat seriously, out of respect for his record.

6 months, and she turned up nothing, and she was recalled to AIS headquarters. She refused. After two more summons, and a conference over ship to ship comm, she was suspended. But she did not leave, and continued her work under Hackett. For while she turned up nothing, it was not the nothing of something that did not exist. It was the nothing of something that was covered up and sealed so perfectly, that it hinted at an organization so powerful as to pose a serious threat.

By the time her suspension had been reviewed, Hackett had pulled other powerful names, such as the well respected Admiral Anderson into his corner, and rather than being dismissed, she found herself permanently assigned to Hackett's staff. While technically her rank had lowered, her reputation remained, and the ability to throw one of the top ranking admiral's name's around should have aided her investigation. But even the Shadow Broker's agents could offer nothing.

But then help came from an unexpected sources. A Spectre, operating in the Attican Traverse, had reported a laboratory on an uninteresting planet near the border of Geth space. It was forwarded to Hackett, because he had his name tagged to any information that had the word "Cerberus" involved. She spent two weeks pouring over every square inch of the place, a place where the people were either making monsters, or studying them. Much had been scrubbed after the Spectre and his team had left, but she still managed to get scraps, and sent it to the proper places. She was glad she had personally done the work, because fully 60% of the work she sent out, never arrived where it was supposed to. The samples just vanished without trace. But She learned something from it. This organization was big, powerful, and had ties within the Alliance. From then on, she reported only to Hackett personally, and never in company. Later, she had Cypress dumped in her lap, and that was a bonus she would never have expected.

But, in the lack of evidence, and seemingly activity, Hackett turned her to other things, like this that she now was attending. It had all started when the Human Spectre, Shepard, had filed his report on the Geth attack that had been happening about a year prior. His claim was that they were merely the tool, accompanied by a rogue Spectre named Saren, of a mythical race of synthetic machines that erased all sentient life in the galaxy. Claims were that this was what caused the decline and extinction of the Protheans. Cynthia thought the story was ridiculous, but Hackett had not. But, for good or bad, she was not the one calling the shots. For whatever reason, Hackett chose to believe the story that even the Council was actively surprising.

And so here she was, trying to forge backdoor agreements with the other racees, in the capacity of anyone who would listen. She had hopes for the Turians, as even though she did not think this was offically sanctioned by their Government, the fact that the diplomat seated before her was the Personal Assisstant to the Primarch, and was sanctioned to act on behalf of the Turian Councilor, gave her some hope that the mostly pragmatic aliens would be receptive.

"You've seen the reports. What do you think?" The female turian's mandibles flexed in an unconscious tick.

"There is no evidence to support the claims." Her voice was terse and had a sort of purr buried deep within its timbre. "No data has been collected, from any of the Prothean artifacts that were visited since, Ilos was a dead world, the machinery there cold. And while strange, the fragments of the ship "Soverign," while not matching known Geth designs, is not believed to exceed estimated Geth Engineering prowess." Cynthia sighed inwardly, her exterior not moving as her hopes were killed. But the Turian continued.

"But, as I believe you humans like to say, "absence of proof is not proof of absence." And while we will not admit that we find this story plausible, the testimony of the Spectre and his companions does have a compelling air to them. We feel that, while we cannot choose to treat this threat as fact, it is never the less important enough that we cannot ignore it. What is it you are suggesting?" The Duchess's heart beat a little faster. Finally, some success. She took a deep breath, her speech prepared, but she wanted it to look as if it were spontaneous.

"I will level you. We are well aware that the whole affair does seem very Human-centric. We understand that we have come into the greater galactic culture only recently, and that we do tend to make a bit of a mess, and mostly agree with your races, and the other races concerns. But the fact remains that my boss believes wholly the story contained in the files you read. Such is my commanding officers opinion of the man in question that he has even come to convince me that the threat is valid, and based on the lack of evidence, I find it even more compelling. Just looking at the legacy the Protheans left us, I find the fact that they seemed to just have up and vanished more suspicious then this almost total lack of evidence that they ever existed. I do not know about your races pre-civilization history, but with mine, we have found evidence dating back to the time when our ancient ancestors came down out of the trees, and first stood to see over the grass. Of other's we have bones dating back 100's of millions of years. But here we have a race capable of building wonders as great as the Citadel, Mass relays, and ruins seeded on dozens or worlds, that all of our races used to propel ourselves far in advance of our solo means." He face clouded in a calculated gesture.

"So why is there so little evidence of such amazing creatures? Maybe we are just paranoid, but our top theorists do not believe a race that could construct things such as this would simply vanish almost without trace, save for scant, and seemingly purposeful ruins." She placed her fingers on a steeple, and leaned heavily on her elbows on the table. "While a race of superpowered, godlike machines seems wild, we chose to take the stance of "what if it's true?" rather then turn a blind eye and hope it is false. And just after looking at the trouble the Geth caused, the possibility of a machine race they revere as gods is something we must take seriously."

Flux was not impressed, although the humans words echoed the sentiment that the Turian Councilor had first brought to the Primarch.

"And what would you ask of us?" She said, her voice level and seemingly interested. The Duchess folded her hands on the table, and leaned forward. She chose her words carefully, as what she was aiming for sounded an awful lot like treason.

"What we wouldd like, is to just stedily massage the level of readiness that our worlds possess. Reinforce and provide backup routes for supply lines. Basic refitting and upgrading of older warships. Apply layers of redundancy in the comm buoy systems." She stated levelly, and then braced unconsciously as she drove into lightly treasonous territory. "We would like to start bringing our races closer together. Joint resources, defense and respose plans, allocation fo forces, battle plans. Create contingencys for situations in which, if unplanned for, would cause chaos and disorder within our combined fleets if the situation deteriorated as badly as the projections you were given."

"So, in short, you are asking us to share sensitive information with a group that is not offically sancctioned by your government, in return for your own, essentially creating a atmosphere in which, if war with a superior force were to decend upon, would stand a better chance in combating." Cynthia looked slightly worried, but swallowed, and decided to make the jump. If the Turians could not be trusted, then none of the races could.

"In essence, yes." Flux was silent for a long few moments, thinking.

"Well, I cannot, at this time, make any guarentees. But what you have outlined, and provided in the materials, seems reasonably within the limits of what my sponsors have said." She paused for effect, but before she could continue, the Human's body guard shot forward.

(...)

Catherine had been on edge since the op started. She, Vixen, and Vandal were detailed to escort a Ambassador to an out of the way construction site, so she could make heep bigg smoke with some upper crust Turian. But the whole thing stunk. The fact that a Spectre had made the arrangements, the fact that the simply dressed "ambassador" almost reeked of being a Spook, and the fact that the Turian's escorts consisted of half a dozen of the Turians highly praised Havoc units said "there is something going on here" as effectivly as if it had been printed in neon letters 10 feet high. So the only reason she saw, and reacted to the Havoc Seargent's motion as he raised the gun, was because she was watching for it. The Preditor pistol swung up in a quick arc, aimed at Campbell's head, as Casey darted forward, pushing the hand up as it fired, the first shot sailing over the diplomats head by less then an inch. But the armor encased warrior was strong, and with his free hand, gave the smaller woman the back of his had across her unprotected face, fracturing her jaw nad sending her to the floor. But, rather then finish her, her agian leveled the weapon at the other human.

"Drakus, what the hell are you doing!" The Female Turian yelled, Seething. He ignored her, as the next bullet would finish her protests, and then the broken human on the floor. Then his mates outside would finish the slope and squid head, evidence would be planted, and they would probably get decorations for their heroism, all while stopping this plot that ran counter to the organizations desires. The gun was kicked off target as the human lashed out from the floor, bouncing up. He swung the pistol at her head, but she deflected it with a ceramic shielded forearm, before twirling, sprouting a knife from her hand, and slamming it into a soft spot on her torso armor, driving the point into his chest. Roaring with pain and rage, he brought a knee up, catching her in the stomach, and sending her over the table. She rolled with it, and bounced of the wall, her sword clicking free of it's restraints and sliding through the air, catching the pistol as he again tried to bring it to bear. The laser sharpened blade clipped through the mostly plastic and light gauge metal weapon, and the soft suit insulators at a finger joint, sending pieces of both cart wheeling away. Clear headed, even with the loss of his finger, he chinned his rifle releases, and reached for the Falcon grenade launcher even as she spun, whipped the blade around, and the specially hardened blade barely hesitated as it came up under his armpit, and severed the arm at the shoulder before she pivoted and brought the point through the suits lighter stomach armor. He had time to note the intensity of the emerald green eyes, and the spot on her jaw already purpling as she brought up the heavy red pistol to his visor, look down the barrel, and watch as it grew to swallow his whole world in blackness.

The loud boom of the retort echoed in the duracrete building, and a neat little cracked hole in the Turian's visor and similar exit wound were all the hinting that the Turian's head was no longer a solid. With a smooth motion, Casey withdrew the blade as the body slumped, and in the same motion, leveled the pistol at the Female Turian's head, the heavy extended barrel a scant 4 inches from the point between the aliens eyes. Flux did not stare into the barrel of the gun, but locked eyes with Catherine. She started to speak, flinches and gasped, and then keeping her teeth closed, questioned The Duchess. But her gun never wavered a centimeter.

"Orders?"

Cynthia was not a fighter. She was a planner, and an organizer. To be sure, she was familiar with violence; she had been down in the foxholes with the troops before. But here, it had been so close, so bloody, and most disturbingly, so fast. The whole attack hadn't lasted more then 6 seconds, and it scared her. She would not even have been able to recover from a shove that quick, much less the deadly dance that she saw her body guard perform. And this body guard... she owed her no loyalty, she was just a mercenary, a paid warrior who wasn;t even Alliance, and yet she had moved not only to deflect the gun, but pulled the focus so that she blocked the ambushers line of fire. After spending so much time entrenched behind layers of the Alliance, it was unsettling to have a stranger putting their life on the line to protect her.

But she was asked for orders. She did not have time to suffer the hysterics she felt. She had to be calm, even if it was an act, because she was in command, and she needed to make a decision. The Havoc soldier had raised his gun seemly without reason, and aimed at her. AT least, she had not noticed a signal from the one called Flux. She also heard gunshots coming from outside.

"Why did your soldier attack?" Cynthia was pleased ot find that her voice did not shake, but was as icy as a frozen wind. Flux did not flinch, or blink. She continued to stare into Voyeur's eyes. Cynthia realized then that this woman was also a soldier, not just a diplomat armored against the roughness of the area.

"I do not know. I gave no orders for them to act in anything but defense." The words were flat, calm. "And I saw, Drakus moved first, and your soldier reacted." She made a snap decision. "She's okay, Voyeur." Casey lowered the gun, and snapped it to her belt without hesitation. Flux lifted a comm unit from her belt, and spoke.

"Report!" She barked harshly. There was a burp of static, and male voice, sounding excited came through.

"The lieutenant is dead, Sarge. The Slope bastard greased him before we could down his shields. We've got them pinned down behind some blocks, about 15 meters north of the building, and we've called in Rehaus's men for reinforcement. He also says that they are about to launch the assault to capture the shuttle that the humans landed in. Have you finished off the humans and the Cabalim?" Flux did a good jonb surpressing the rage she felt. Rehaus, of course. The damned Heart of Palavin would hate for any deal to be struck with the humans. She made a note to tell the Primarch to check the ranks of the Havoc Corps for supporters when she made it back. She did not speak into the radio again, the traitors had weasled their way into her guard. Likely, they would kill her, and frame the humans. Such an act would likely galvanize the Primarch into never again trusting the humans. She turned to Duchess.

"Call your shutttle, and have then vacate." Cynthia triggered her omnitool.

"Duchess to shuttle, condition aborigine."

"Wilco." The pilot replied, and cut off. It's was a pre-organized response to a stock situation. Flux turned to Catherine.

"You may want to assist your friends." Casey looked to Cynthia, who nodded, and she pivoted on a one foot, moving swiftly to the Turian's corpse. She slide a foot under the Falcon, and kicked it up, snachin it from the air and checking the ammo in one swift motion. She then reached down, and pulled another two clips of the special ammunition out of the dead soldiers pouches, Before leveling the rifle, and walking to the door. She triggered the release, and pushed out into the open space.

Vixen and Vandal were off the her right, crouched between some large duracrete support blocks, taking fire from a stack of prefab building cubes. Directly in front of her, a Turian Corporal stood, yelling over the suits radios, firing spare shots at the twosome. Beyond him amid a jungle of scaffolding and half constructed walls, another 6 turians, these wearing regular armor, were moving through toward the prefabs to back up the Havoc troops.

She did not wait for him to notice her. The first grenade smashed into his shields, the second popped them, and the third impacted the side of his armor, opening it like a flower and spraying the deck plates with gore. As the three other surviving Havoc's turned to start firing at the new threat, they were forced to duck back as three more grenades finished traveling the distance, and exploded against the sides of the prefabs. Vandal and Vixen used the distraction to pop up, and mow them down. Casey gestured with her head for them to head over, while she reloaded, and they quick stepped the 30 meters.

Vandal, the engineering genius he was, owed part of his success to the way he saw the word. He could just look at something, and see how it was put together, and how it functioned. He could see the intricate patter of struts and walls, predict the way that gravity would effect and pull down the pieces, and how the whole thing fit together like a giant set of dominos. This was why he had chosen the tag "Vandal." He did not engage in wonton destruction like so very many of his race mates. He preferred what he liked to call "constructive destruction," utilizing the least amount of force to affect the greatest amount of result. He triggered a Carnage charge on his shotgun, lifted the thing with one hand, adjusted his aim a few degrees, and fired. The incendiary explosive flew through the air, missed a strut by a centimeter, and collided with one about three scaffoldings back. Shattering the metal and spattering the surrounding area with burning debris. Thanks to the new weakened area, the overall structure shifted, just as he predicted, creaking and falling, knocking a support that was holding up a slab of wall away. The wall ever so slowly creaked as its weight pulled it over.

But they did not stay to watch, instead piling into the bunker like building, and jamming the door.

(...)

Lieutenant Markus O'Bannon was pleased. The plan was progressing almost perfectly to plan. His superiors had learned of the attempt by that damned Exo-lover to forge stronger ties with the aliens from their agent inside the human embassy, and he had been chosen to figure out how to stop it. Not an easy task, given the fact that the bitch he was after was Hackett's personal dog, who had he pet Spectre keeping her covered. Cerberus teams were good, but even they did not relish trying to take down Spectres. But, the plan was good. The stupid hatchet-heads feel for it hook, line, and sinker.

Some information had been "leaked" to a faction of the hatchet-heads that were very opposed to closer ties to the humans, and let them set up the rest. And then, after they had killed the humans, his team, hovering in an air car over the jungle of scaffolding and half finished construction, would swoop in, eliminate the remaining aliens, and take what articles they could, to build a better picture of what Hackett was planning.

Such were his thoughts as something landed on the hood of the car, crouching and starring in. It looked biped shaped, slender, wearing what could have been Asari leathers, but there was no skin visible. A Gas mask like helm covered the face, and a hood painted in a dark camo pattered was pulled up over the head.

(...)

Cypress was irritated. This was not optimal, as it would mean trouble for anyone that got in her way.

Cypress had started her life as a normal little girl out on a border world, until, around the age of three, she began to exhibit signs of being Bioticly gifted. She never knew the details, but when she was first old enough to remember anything, she had been interred in a Cerberus facility. And for years, she was experimented on and tortured, nurtured, loved, lied to, and anything else her overlords could think of to make her grow her Biotic abilities. But she was not special. She was merely one of about a dozen who seemed to have the greatest potential. She had been listed on the rolls as "Subject 4." She was 14 when "Subject 0" escaped, creating enough confusion and casualties in the process that Cypress only had to kill 2 security troops and a handler to escaper herself. After that, her recollections were blurred, as she was cut off from the drugs she had not know she was being given. By the time Duchess had found her, all she had were scattered recollections of her life before then, though the new therapies that had been developed within the Ascension Program had helped with her rage issues a little, and a profound, deep seated need to find the ones who locked her away, and to make them suffer. It was her own sloppy investigations into it that had tipped off Duchess to her, and she had served the woman since.

But her fervor had cooled in the 8 years she had been with AIS, although she did not consider herself a part of it. No, her loyalty lay to Cynthia Campbell. Oh, she liked Hackett okay too, and she could work with his staff, but she had seemed to imprint upon Cynthia like a baby duckling. And for her part, while She had been pumping her for information, Cynthia had seen a great tool in the girls, and got her enlisted, trained, and then inducted into AIS, where her records were sealed and the Human named Cypress officially never existed. And then, when the Human Spectre Sheperd was killed, she saw another opertunity, and submitted her pet for Spectre status. It was approved, as after the loss of such a hero, humanity needed the some good news to bolster their spirits. So, at 27 years old, Cypress became the second human Spectre, and was based out of Arcturus Station, or the Agustus when Hackett and his staff were on their Flagship Dreadnaught.

Cypress had, of course, beenn following her boss, even though she was told not to. She had been sent to hire a discreet team of mercs, disposable, if necessary, to accompany her, because the act of bring a Spectre with her would have drawn attention, and been a poor showing toward the Turian counterpart.

Needless to say, when the Turian guards began too attack, and when more, un military turians began to appear and move toward the meeting, Cypress was curious. And then, when two air cars and a troop transport flew in and began to hover, she was considerably displeased. So, she sent the necessary signals through her mind, floded herself in the cocoon of dark energy, and popped through a hole in the Quantum under layer of Space-time, and popped again into existance on the hood of the first Aircar. Peering inn at the surprised people in side, she noted absently that this was not more turians, but rather human. Humans in black, white and yellow combat armor that looked hatefully familiar. So, using her Omnitool to create a focus, she pulsed a blast of Biotic energy through, refracting and coalescing the energy into a tight beam, punching through the electric motor, and causing the reactor to detonate. The car lurched and then accelerated as it went down, but Cypress was already gone, popped onto a section of wall below.

But shee did not get to watch the car hit the ground. As her feet touched, the wall tipped, falling over, the supports that held it up having been knocked clear. She popped again, away from the jungle of girders, supports, and scaffoldings, and watched as the wall smashed into a secton yard stacked with spare scaffolds, crushing one of the turians, and causing steel bars to go shooting in all directions. It progressed rapidly, until fully half of the area was buried in a cloud of debris and a cloud of dust, and all of the supporting turians were dead. Cypress would have been impressed with the destruction, had she not seen with a surge of dismay and rage that her therapist would chastise her about if he knew, that the second car and carrier flew back over the building, while the three surviving Havoc's fired their boosters and went after them. She leapt from her perch, popped out, and re-popped on ground level sprinting toward the single door in the bunker like building. With one hand, she gathered and tossed an underhand Warp, which splashed against the metal and began to eat at its chemical bonds. The throw that followed blasted the door to splinters as the two differing biotic fields reacted and exploded. She skidded to a halt, looking around in shock and anger.

The room was empty, save for a Turian corpse, and her prey was gone.

(...)

They had jumped out the window. It was a rather large drop, but there was a steep incline they could slide down into the maintenance tunnels running below the wad. No injuries, as Thud had lifted the little redheaded human and held her like a child while they slide, her being the only one without armor. 2 miles of labyrinthine passages later, and they came out above decks in a residential area that had been shoddy even when new. Gunfire had rattled down from the surviving Havocs as they emerged, just a second group of Human troops rappelled out of a hovering gunship and began adding fire to both parties. So, Casey's group booked it, occasionally tossing back a few shots or gadgets to help the pursuers keep their heads down.

After about 15 minutes of running, the slums thinned slightly into an open space that had been the receiving area for a main thoroughfare at one point, but was now little more then a filth and trash covered lot. Further up, they would be able to requisition a vehicle that would carry them all, but that would take time. So Casey volunteered for a holding action, and was met with no argument from her people. The Spook had tried to argue, but having a Krogan lift you and haul you off does not strengthen your position. It suited her fine, because she was fairly sure she had recognized the armor those humans had been wearing, and was a mite eager to show them what came of harrassing her after she'd resigned.

So was standing in the middle of the space, her pistol aimed at chest height the way they had come, and her sword in her left, lowered and at rest, when a lone figure sprinted into view. The fact that it was not what she expected caused her to hesitate for a half second before she pulled the trigger. The shot missed, whipping past the head of the opponent as it dived sideways, reflexes better then Casey would have guessed, rolled, and came to her feet.

A prreditory smile played across her lips. She had never killed a Spectre before; never even fought one, in fact. The whole of council space went on about how much better they were then line soldiers, and she had always wanted to find out how she measured up. Plus, they had special gear that were only provided to their ilk, and the only way someone like Casey could get their hands on it was to pry it out of a dead one's hands. She could live with that.

She did not lower her gun, but watched as the Spectre crept closer, eyeing the terrain, figuring out where she would take cover when the real shooting started. There were mountains of garbage, old, rusted dumpsters, discarded packing containers and shipping modules. It would be a fun playground, if the Spectre lived past the next shot, which Casey doubted. She twitched as if she were about to fire, saw which way the other was goin to dodge, adjusted to match, and fired. The Spectre was not there, and Casey had a moment to curse herself before she heard a pop, and felt the kick slam into her side. It was a strong kick, but it felt odd, like if the kicker was too light to get the proper oomph out of it. It still knocked her wind out, but it staggered her rather than knock her down. She swung the pistol to the side, met empty air as there was another pop, and heard a third as a fist slammed into the back of her head. She jerked forward, but rather then strike at the damned girl where she was now, Casey twirled her sword and stabbed out behind her.

She was rewarded with the feel of a vibration down the sword, and the sound of tearing leather. They both broke contact, Casey rolling forward as the other skated clear with a burst of biotics. Casey kept moving, sliding behind a dumpster as a flurry of 6-round burst flew from the Spectre's Shuriken Submachine gun. She reloaded her own pistol, and was waiting for the lull in fire when the Throw hit the other side of the dumpster, shoving her back and to the ground. There was a pop, and the gas mask like face appeared only 2 feet above her as a bioticly charged fist slammed down where her head was. She slide sideways, sweeping out one of the attackers legs, and throwing her off balance. But as the bracing arm met Casey's body, she clamped her own arm around it, sweeping her body laterally, until she pulled the Spectre down, her arm twisted at and odd angle. Casey maneuvered again, propping the arm over a leg, and then brought her free elbow down on the forearm with a satisfying crack as the bone broke. She was then surprised as the woman's screamed and blasted out with spherical repellant field, lifting Casey bodily and throwing her against the dumpster, which itself was pushed a good 20 feet.

Her sword had landed near her, and she scooped it up and swung upward with no buildup as the Spectre was already charging her. She pivoted out of the way, the sword slicing through hood and mask as she twirled and ducked, vanishing, but reappearing instantly to land an elbow in Catherine's stomach. Vanishing again, Catherine stood on one leg, spinning her other leg high at where she expected the reemergence. She was off, and had slacked the force when the Spectre did reappear, and was hit with a softer blow. From here, they continued to trade close range blows, Cypress in a fury, and Casey with a calm, reactionary efficacy.

Finally, Casey staggered back out of range, and Cypress did as well. Bother were panting heavily, hurt. Cypress's arm hung limp at her side, her mask torn away, sever shallow cuts bleeding from gaps in her leather. Her crimson eyes pulsing rage at the other woman. Casey could barely stand, he armor scuffed and cracked, underneath a carpet of bruises and contusions. One eye was swollen shut, and she had been hit in her fractured jaw again, and blood was running from the corner of her mouth.

She tried to raise her sword, got it only waist high. But her visible eye shown brightly out of a purple socket. Cypress to a shakey step forward, and stopped.

"Yeah, that's far enough." She was staring into the barrel of the Krogan's shotgun. Casey looke dstartled, then turned to see Thud. Without a word, he lifted her, sweeping out her feet with one hand, and keeping the shotgun leveled with the other. He took a few steps back, placed his charge in the back of a 8 person air car, and climbed in with her.

"I... had... under... control." She managed to wheeze, and then passed out, her sword clattering to the floor.

On the ground, Cypress looked as the car sped away, and then took a step forward. Then another. The bastards would not get away. Not with her commander.

End 2


End file.
